


Hold On

by haphephobiaisfun



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Comfort, Drunkeness, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 22:28:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21107039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haphephobiaisfun/pseuds/haphephobiaisfun
Summary: Sometimes, you just want to be held.





	Hold On

They had been drinking for hours, not for any particular occasion. It started with a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc that a customer had brought Aziraphale as a thank you for finding a particular book from the man’s childhood. From there, they sampled nearly everything in the angel’s liquor cabinet. 

Crowley and Aziraphale sat lazily on the couch in the backroom. The store had long since closed, and the only noises interrupting the silence were the two of them drinking. A bit of ice, a newly opened bottle being poured, and surprisingly little conversation.

The angel, completely wasted at this point, looked over at his friend. “You’re, uh, awful quiet... for you. You alright there?”

Crowley sunk deeper into the plush sofa cushions. Still wearing his glasses, he nodded toward his glass of what was now bourbon. 

“Nuthin to ssspeak of,” he moaned. “Angel? Why do you drink?”

“I dunno, to unwind? To enjoy this… very “human” experience, I suppose.”

“Do you try to forget?” The demon leaned forward a little further than he meant to. “There’s a lot to forget. If we can forget.”

He raised his glass for a toast. “To forgetting stuff with alcohol,” Crowley bellowed before emitting a small hiccup.

“Now, wait a moment,” Aziraphale said, trying to shake his head a bit more clear. “We don’t want to forget too much. You, um… what are you wanting to forget?”

“The usual stuff really: falling from Heaven, that kid who stepped on me when I was a snake, he was a prick…”

Aziraphale nodded with intoxicated understanding as Crowley continued.

“...how it feels to be held, how humans can create and enjoy so much awful music…”

“Um, hold on,” Aziraphale interrupted. “What was that bit before the music?”

“Your taste in music is awful, too, I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I forgot.”

“What? No, before that. The holding stuff.”

Crowley looked genuinely confused as he tried to recall what he had said. He couldn’t recall what drink he was on, much less what he was complaining about.

“You said that you wanted to forget how it felt to be held.”

“Sounds right. When you are a demon, or a snake… or a demon snake…”

The two drunken beings nodded in agreement at something, but they were unsure what.

“Sorry, what you were saying about that, ‘bout not getting held?”

“Well, not with any respect,” Crowley countered, his voice increasing in volume. “I’ve been roughed up plenty, and tossed about, but I usually don’t get as much as a handshake from people.”

Aziraphale began to realize there was something important being admitted to here, so he miracled himself mostly sober. Mostly.

“So, when was the last time someone held you?”

Crowley’s drunken confusion continued. “There was a prostitute in France...”

“Oh! I didn’t know you...”

“Nah, nah, it was someone I asked to accompany me around the area as I was looking for the, uh, queen, I think... er, she fed the people cake or something.”

“Marie Antoinette? She didn’t actually feed them cake…”

“The lady was very nice and at the end of the evening, she sat with her arms around me, smoothing my hair…”

He stopped for a moment. He tilted his head to the side, like he had just recalled something he wanted to forget.

“...and she held me for a couple hours in a small, sort of scuzzy cafe. Then, she scurried off once I paid her.”

Crowley pulled his legs up in his arms and set his chin on his knees. “She did let me forget what I was for a bit, that I was... this. For a few hours, I felt lovable.”

Aziraphale was sadly staring at Crowley, not with pity, but with frustration.

“My dear boy, you are loveable, and certainly worthy of love.”

“No, ‘m not. I am a broken thing. A piece of refuse cast down from Heaven.” Crowley took off his glasses and wiped his eyes. They were red from exhaustion and overindulgence. 

Words clearly were not going to help here, the angel thought. He braced himself to do something about the situation.

“Crowley, would you mind if I held you?”

The demon turned his face down and hid behind his knees. He mumbled incoherently for a bit, but Aziraphale could make out a bit of what was said.

“Don’t need your pity. Just somethin’ I remembered, that’s all.”

As the angel considered his next move, he heard a noise coming from the balled-up Crowley. When he leaned in, he could hear the little snores more clearly. As much as he would have liked to wake up his friend and comfort him, Aziraphale knew to let him sleep.

The next morning, Crowley woke up on the couch. He felt like his head was splitting in half, and nausea overtook him as he tried to sit up. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the ailments and evidence of the previous night’s activities. Glancing over at the liquor cabinet, he saw it had been tidied up. Of course, it had. Aziraphale wasn’t going to head to bed with a mess…

“Hold on,” he muttered under his breath.

A quick, now sober, inventory uncovered a couple of things. First, Aziraphale had clearly tucked the demon in tight with a blanket and a bucket in case he needed to wretch during the night. His shoes had been removed and placed on the floor next to him, along with his clothes.

That got Crowley’s attention. He whipped back the blanket to reveal a long sleep shirt. It was a light tan tartan pattern, but it was Crowley’s size. 

“Aziraphale! Did you buy me a nightgown, and then put me in it?!”

There was no reply. Annoyed, Crowley began to put his own clothes back on. He found a note tucked next to his boots:

“Crowley,  
I will be back shortly with breakfast for that hangover you must have.  
-AZ”

At that moment, the front bell chimed. Crowley stood to greet Aziraphale, his arms full of bags. He handed the demon a coffee.

“Feeling better?

“A tartan nightgown? Really?”

“I didn’t want you to get sick over your good clothes. I am surprised you aren’t half-discorporated.”

Crowley grumbled as he took a swig of coffee. It was remarkably delicious.

“You know we can miracle away hangovers, right?”

Aziraphale ignored him as he pulled out a couple of containers with typical breakfast foods… bacon, sausage, beans, and toast. He motioned Crowley to have a seat next to him and eat. 

“We don’t have to eat, either. You know that,” Crowley said condescendingly as he finished off the coffee.

“We don’t have to do anything of the sort, but there are things that we enjoy in these bodies, things we crave. Not just food or drink, but things that bring comfort.”

With the word ‘comfort’, Crowley suddenly recalled the previous night’s drunken confession. Dammit.

“Look, I don’t want to talk about whatever was said when I was drunk. You! You got me drunk to make me say things.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes as he snagged another sausage. “Oh, just eat, would you.”

“Aren’t you opening the bookstore soon?”

“No, it’s raining cats and dogs out there. I don’t want soaked bodies coming through here.”

“Rain? There’s not any…”

Thunder boomed as the rain began to strike the roof with force.

“It might even hail,” the angel said matter of factly.

“Alright, what’s all this about?”

“Crowley, I was concerned with what you told me last night. Drunk people are honest people, and you revealed a pain to me. I want to help you not feel that way.” Aziraphale held a forkful of bacon pointed towards Crowley. “I got you some breakfast. We can go from there.”

“Whatever makes you happy, and helps to get this over with.” He leaned over and swiped the bacon with a single bite.

After putting the breakfast items away, Aziraphale motioned to the kitchen sink. “Probably easier to do it here instead of the bathroom.”

“Do what, exactly?”

“Wash your hair.”

“I do that regularly, thank you.”

“Great, but you are doing it again now,” Aziraphale called out as he carried a shampoo chair from the back.

“What in…. how long have you had that?”

“Honestly? A few minutes. Take off your coat and have a seat.”

Grumbling all the while, Crowley did as he was told. He protested everything from the temperature of the water to the shampoo’s scent. He continued to complain until Aziraphale began to lightly massage the scalp with his nails. As the demon’s scalp was scrubbed, the rhythmic motion caused Crowley to space out. He began to daydream about having his hair smoothed by the woman in France again, but also by an informant from Caesar’s inner circle even centuries before that. There was an affection that he associated with those who played with or even tended to his hair. The warm water rinse brought him back. 

“Relaxed?”

“Just lost in thought. Did your barber teach you this?”

“Heavens no, I learned this at a technical course I went to in the 1990s.”

Aziraphale towel dried his hair, and guided him to the bed. As Crowley sat down, Aziraphale tucked in behind him. He pulled out a brush and began to pull it through the demon’s hair. He dropped the brush after a bit and ran his fingers through the mass of red strands. 

The sensation of the light tugging over his sensitive scalp began to put Crowley at ease, an ease that part of him wanted to fight. He felt vulnerable, something he hadn’t felt in centuries. It was comforting and terrifying. He sat straight up until he began to lose himself… in the sensation, in the trust, in the receiving of such pleasantness. 

Crowley subconsciously leaned back onto the angel’s chest, now completely open to whatever Aziraphale had planned. The angel shifted the both of them onto their sides, where he continued to play with the red mane as he put his other arm around Crowley’s waist. He softly began to hum a few bars of an old tune, while Crowley nuzzled his head against the hand that tended to it. After a couple of hours, the sound of the rain beating into the roof ceased. 

Aziraphale rubbed the back of his hand over Crowley’s jaw. “My dear, how are you feeling?”

Crowley let out a pleased “ngk”.

Aziraphale could feel the waves of satisfaction and love pouring off of the demon, but he didn’t dare comment on it. He was just pleased he could help Crowley feel loveable.

“Good. Is there anything you wanted to do today?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Alright. A lazy day it is.”


End file.
